Decoy
by RedRubyStorm
Summary: Songfic. Victoria died. Cassandra avenges her.  T for suggestions, mild violence, and just darkness in general.   Also, a birthday present to a friend.


**So, since this seems the status quota she's set, I'm dedicating this to the ObsidianThunder part of ObsidianThunder and RubyStorm (Or, I'm dedicating this to BlackObsidianThunder, but we changed the account name) for her birthday! She 'gave' me... a song fic entitled 'Misguided Ghosts' for my b-day, so I'm giving her one entitled Decoy. Well... it seems neither of us can write happy, cheerful stuff for each other. Oh, well.**

**The song is Decoy by Paramore and will be in _italics._**

**Um... this plot isn't irrelevent to Obsidian's life. I'll tell you more at the end. **

**Sorry, Plato lovers, you aren't going to like this one a bit.**

**-Cassandra's P.O.V.-**

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><p>Victoria had been lusting after Plato. That much was obvious. He got together with her, as he would with any queen. The first couple weeks, she had fun. He acted genuinely sweet towards her. She didn't know his past, didn't know how long he'd been the bad boy, the druggie, and for all I knew, he might be the father of some kits. Actually, based on his character, he probably is.<p>

But Victoria was genuinely in love with him, but it was quite clear to me, who was not love-blinded, that he never felt the same way about her.

Eventually, she came into lessons crying her eyes out, makeup running down her fur, staining it shades of black and gray, rather than white. Exotica and I excused the three of us from class to get her cleaned up. Despite our efforts to make her feel better, it came out that she did not. Plato had used her. Used her for his own pleasure. For sex. Then dumped her, laughed in her face. Broke her heart.

She'd gone home, though, and we figured her parents would keep her out of trouble. Wrong again. It came out her mom didn't get home until five o'clock. The dad wasn't in the picture. It was enough time for Victoria to bleed herself unconcious.

Victoria slit her wrists. She died in the hospital early the next morning.

And it was all Plato's fault.

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><p>I couldn't let that go unpunished, couldn't get the white queen out of my mind.<p>

A plan started to formulate.

I'd break him the way he broke Victoria. It was only fair. One heart for another. One dickhead for an innocent queen.

I wouldn't kill him. As just as that would be, it wouldn't be worth the jail-time or fines, whatever they do to crackheads who murder each other for the hell of it.

Plato didn't get arrested, because technically, it was suicide. That doesn't make her being used and broken any worse. Sadly, police cats can't to anything about a broken heart. Oh, the simplicities of regular cats.

I put my plan into action the next day at school.

Staring at him too long, looking down and blushing whenever he caught me looking. I'm pretty sure the blush was lost in my fur, but he got the affect. Smiling at him, rubbing against him at times.

He started reacting back. In less than a week, we were an 'item'. In his mind, I'm not sure what we were - actually in love? I don't know. In mine, we were nothing, just me avenging Victoria.

I'm pretty sure he was in love with me the way Victoria had been with him in two weeks after being an 'item'. The sad thing is, I planned on doing the exact same thing to him that he'd done to her. Not that the thought really bothered me, but it registered. If he killed himself the way she did, fine, that's another dickhead in hell, no skin off my nose. Sure, it might land me there too, but I'd be okay, feeling she'd been avenged.

I was waiting for it, the right moment, at his lowest, when I'd be able to break him.

I waited patiently. Another week past by. Then another.

Then, I was walking to the park, my little sister in mind at a soccer game, when a moan came from a dead-end alley to my right.

It wasn't too much of a big deal. I don't live in a huge town, but it's big enough, there have been drunks passed out on the streets, the occasional beat up person. I'd taken to carrying a pocket knife in my pocket, because a young queen can never be to careful. My little sister, not even a queen, carried pepper spray in the duffel she takes with her everywhere, that thing holds lesson books, sports stuff, the pepper spray, and anything else inbetween that she might need.

I walked into the alley, hand in pocket, prepared to bring it out if I had to. To my surprise, it was Plato, curled up onto his side, holding a bleeding nose and his side.

One of his friends was there, trying to stand him up, but I waved him away, saying, "I'll get him." His friend, Alonzo, nods and retreats, blending into the shadows on the other side of the street. He's watching, I know, but somehow that makes it better.

This hadn't been a life-threatening beating. So I saw my chance. I took it.

I got infront of him, his eyes, a little clouded with pain, but still focused on me. "Plato. You insolent fool," I say, laughing like the rich boarding-school cats do on the other side of town, "did you ever think I could love a bastard like you? We never were. Whatever we are in your little skull, is over." I backed up a little, laughed.

His expression, looking up at me, is pure confusion. Grieving over a love that never really was.

_"Close your eyes and make believe,  
>This is where you wanna be." <em>I tell him, then add silently, to myself, for myself.

_Forgetting all the memories.  
>Try to forget love,<br>'Cause love's forgotten me._

I mean, really, love's forgotten everyone. That Plato would use a girl, barely even a queen, like that. Then I'd do the same for that girl, avenging her.

_"Well hey, hey, baby it's never too late.  
>Pretty soon you won't remember a thing.<br>And I'll be distant as stars,  
>Reminess,<br>And your heart's been wasted on me." _

I never loved him. His whole heart is what he loved me with, not reserving any of it for himself. Which made him all the easier to break.

Pain is what he's looking at me with now. Just pain in his unwavering gaze. Mine never leaves him either, but mine's full of scorn, of hatred, I'm sure. A sudden rush of anger takes me over.

_"You've never been so used as I'm using you.  
>Abusing you.<br>My little decoy!" _

Sadness for what could of been in all his features. He tries to stand up, and fails, clutching his side again. A distorted smile makes its way onto my face.

_"Don't look so blue,  
>You should've seen right through.<br>I'm using you,  
>My little decoy!" <em>

He doesn't like this title, apparently, as he tries to feebly swing at me. I barely even jump and I end up right over it, never hitting me. As much as I'd like to, I don't stomp on his hands. I don't particularly want to get arrested today.

_"My little decoy!" _I tell him again.

I think of Plato's past. The drugs, the girls, the alcohol. Never fully in reality. That's my next point to hit.

_"Livin' life inside a dream,  
>Time is changing everything.<br>Forgetting all the memories.  
>And I'm forced into you, just 'cause you're into me."<em>

If he hadn't slightly liked me before the plan, it probably wouldn't of worked. But Plato had. So it was me who had to get the revenge, to break him, to use him. He's trying to stand up again, using the wall behind him for support, grimacing in pain. I know he can't do any real damage to me in this state, him injured, me armed. Alonzo wouldn't attack me. He had more manners than most around here.

So I decided to taunt him, backing up slightly so he'd have to take a step forward just to be within super weak striking range.

_"Well hey, hey baby it's never too late.  
>When I'm gone you won't remember a thing.<br>But I can't stay, and you know I won't wait.  
>I was gone from the very first day." <em>

I was always gone. Never was going to wait for him.

He tries to strike again. I catch his fist this time, and use his momentum to make him spiral into a wall. This is basic self-defense. I can't get put into prison for this. Besides, like a zombie, Plato's not affected my this blow.

I'm the one standing near the back wall now, having walked around him, taunting him.

_"You've never been so used, as I'm using you.  
>Abusing you.<br>My little decoy!" _

He staggers to his feet again. Actually finds a broken glass bottle on the ground. That's when I start to get a little worried. He bears the broken end toward me. I whip out my pocket knife. It's not a large blade, really, but I can still manage to do so damage with it. Hell, I'm better hunting with a bow and arrows then a gun, so I'm willing to bet I'm better with the pocket knife than a sword. We circle each other. I end up with my back to the open street agian.

But once I'm started with the taunting, I can't really stop.

_"Don't look so blue,  
>You should've seen right through,<br>I'm using you,  
>My little decoy!"<em>

He lashes out with the bottle. Gets my arm a little. A small trickle of blood.

A small hiss of, "Owwww." Escapes my lips. I don't mean it to. I'm just surprised he can even hit something in his drunken, pained state.

_"I'm not sorry at all," _I tell him anyway, making a few slashes on his arm with my own knife. _"Not sorry at all, not sorry." _I thought of Victoria, and a couple more cuts begin to criss-cross his arms. I'm good with a knife. Took fencing classes a couple years, and there's not much a of a difference.

Even if the police came and arrested me, I'd feel I did Victoria justice. _"I won't be sorry at all. Not sorry at all, not sorry."_

The distorted grin comes back as something hits me, _"I'd do it over again."_

He collapses again, from pain, from loss of blood, I don't know. I didn't know the extent of the wound on his side, as he'd kept his weak side away from me the entire time.

I crouch down, wrench the bottle from his grasp, pocket my own knife again. Get right in his face, grin, and say,

_"Don't look so blue,  
>My little decoy!<br>You should've seen right through,  
>My little decoy!<br>You've never been so used,  
>My little decoy!<br>As I'm using you,  
>My little decoy!"<em>

With that, I apply a little pressure to the point on his shoulder. By a little, I mean enough to make him faint. I flash a grin in Alonzo's direction and walk away, satisfied Victoria's death has been avenged.

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><p><strong>[AN] No, nothing cheerful for you, Obsidian. Not from me, anyway. A cheerful writing from me might give some people a heart attack.**

**Anyway, how this story has anything to do with Obsidian:**

**This sixteen year-old, "Victoria", went to Obsidian and her sister "Cassandra" 's school. A dickhead, "Plato", broke "Victoria's" heart. She did slit her wrists and died. Obsidian's sister got revenge on him, though I emphasised a bit. She really only got together with him to break his heart. He did fall in love with her after about two weeks. She treated him like shit. She broke up with him infront of his "cool" friend, and "Cassandra" said he nearly cried. So that's the story. Obsidian, share that with your sis. She feels "Victoria's" death is overlooked so much. Tell her the story's out. **

**"Cassandra" is older than myself and Obsidian, she's in college now, and we are not. Because I know I'll get questions on that. xD**


End file.
